Top Posts

Pages

Yesterday was the first of two whole (and I use that term loosely) days this week I get to spend with she, who has previously been known as “Eve”, but is now to be known as “Her Royal Awesomeness”. We will be spending Friday together at The Tech Museum, in San Jose, however due to another familial obligation Her Royal Awesomeness will have to cut the day short at dinner time.

We had big plans, which, to quote Her Royal Awesomeness, “consisted of lots of eating and indecision” HRA and I are, the two least decisive individuals known to man, which makes us either the perfect pair who enjoy spending hours on end together, or two people who waste an inordinate amount of time trying to figure the other one out… I prefer the first answer.

It’s been raining – I was going to say, “raining up a storm” but I guess that’s a bit redundant – here in Northern California and my 40+ mile drive from my house in Oakland to Her Royal Awesomeness’s Grandparents house in San Jose, took a little longer than usual due to the worsened conditions.

I arrived in one piece and we headed out for our strategically planned day. I asked her, “So! What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

See? Now that’s what I call Strategery! We have not an original bone between us and we did the same thing we almost always do: lunch at The Cheesecake Factory, shopping at Target, wandering aimlessly around the mall, and a movie (He’s Just Not that Into You.) Mostly it’s just about spending time together and getting to talk. Something that doesn’t happen nearly enough for my taste.

By the time I was driving home, at 10:00 at night, the rain was coming down in buckets. I drove home, wipers at full blast, eye’s wide open and knuckles white with tension. Highway 880 isn’t the best lit (or striped) highway in the bay area and with the rain and the dark the drive was pretty tense. I pulled into my garage and pried my fingers loose from the steering wheel.

But you know what? I’d do it all over again without a moments hesitation. That’s how important this friend is to me.

So what about you? What torment have you put yourself through for the sake of a friend? Would you do it again?

I hate Thanksgiving. I always have. I have virtually nothing but bad memories of Thanksgivings past. I do not eat traditional Thanksgiving food for the most part, and I grew up in a Christian (Read: NO BOOZE) family so there was nothing to “numb the senses” or “dull the pain.”

I rarely spent Thanksgiving with Dead Beat Dad, and I was never really unhappy about that because the traditional meal at his house was something he learned about when he was a boy and Papa was working for Billy Graham and traveling the world. I don’t actually know if it’s the official name for it but Dead Beat Dad always referred to it as African Chop but looks nothing like this. No, African Chop in the Dead Beat Dad house is some strange concoction of foods that amounts to a plate of white rice with a thick gravy composed of shredded chicken, chicken stock and peanut butter (yes you read that right) poured over it. there was also a sickening array of items to top the plate off. Everything from chopped, raw fresh fruits and vegetables to multiple kinds of nuts and toasted or raw shredded coconut. Honest to God, I feel like I could barf just describing it and I don’t think I’ve had it in over 20 years.

Thanksgiving at Scornful Mother‘s house wasn’t a whole hell of a lot better. She always thought that Thanksgiving should be the traditional meal, which I understand but since I don’t really care for any of the food it wasn’t really all that much better. What it was, for me at least, was an extended week-end of concentrated time with an unhappy family. Even Ex Con Older Brother who pretty much lived in his bedroom and hated the rest of us would “come out and play”, which to him, usually meant tormenting me. There would be little or no food to be had for most of the day while Scornful Mother “slaved away” in the kitchen for the big meal which would come around 4:00.

This was a really brilliant strategy on Scornful Mother‘s part as the tradition always started with Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls for breakfast…and only Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls. So she’d feed us sugary carbs for breakfast and then expect us to not complain about being hungry and not fight amongst ourselves while she cooked all day and didn’t feed us for six to eight hours. Then she’d feed us Turkey with Stuffing. I don’t like Turkey, but I love stuffing (More straight carbs.) There would be jellied Cranberries out of a can, yuck, yams, double yuck; green bean casserole, yuck and yuck (I don’t like green beans, on their own or in a casserole); and rolls or cornbread, I enjoy those, but again, carbs. The only thing that I consistently love about Thanksgiving is the Pumpkin Pie. And if you’re like me, you like a little bit of pumpkin pie with your Cool Whip. And then as if all this weren’t bad enough, Scornful Mother always used the enormous amount of left overs as an excuse to not make real meals for the rest of the week-end.

The only part of this day that has ever held any kind of appeal to me, beisdes the pumpkin pie, is the cinnamon roll breakfast and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. So you can imagine my surprise, this morning, when I was sitting in my cold apartment, with my blanket over me watching the parade and eating my pan of cinnamon rolls, when I suddenly found myself fighting back tears. I can’t really explain what happened other than to say that I’m going through a lot of changes in my life and my emotions are starting to rise to the surface a bit more. It’s not really that I miss my family because I really don’t. I wish I was able to spend a little more time with CPA Sis and her family, but I’m not really that bothered that about it either. I do not miss spending time with Dead Beat Dad or Scornful Mother and I know that spending time with any of them on occasions such as this only serve to make family relations more tense. I definitely do not miss those events.

I guess the tears came from the rush of familiarity. For a moment I could imagine myself, nine years old, sitting on the floor in front of the television watching the parade and knowing the cinnamon rolls were in the oven. I could smell them baking and I could imagine what they were going to taste like, and since the only time Scornful Mother ever made them was Thanksgiving and Christmas days, it was special to me. I used to love to get up and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I don’t know why. It’s cheesy and the hosts, always the Today Show hosts as I recall, delivered line after corn-ball line about the floats and acts in the parade. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen but I always watched with excitement and expectation, of what, I do not know. No one else ever had an interest in the parade but Scornful Mother always made CPA Sis and Ex Con Older Brother leave me alone and let me watch it. I was still young and naive enough to think that this was going to be a special day, but in reality, I only had until noon, when the parade was over, before the hellishness would really set in.

Watching the parade this morning I realized what ludicrous propagandizing it really is. It really amounts to a three hour sales pitch for TV shows, and musicians new CDs, etc., interspersed with poorly written comic lines delivered by decidedly unfunny MCs. Soon I was in sugar shock (living alone there was no one to help eat the cinnamon rolls), over the nostalgia of the moment and the tears were gone. Gone, but not forgotten.

CPA Sis, Mr. Fixit and Precious Nieces #1 & #2, are visiting Scornful Mother for the holiday and while Mr. Fixit does some more renovations of Scornful Mother‘s house. Last night I received an e-mail from CPA Sis:

Tomorrow should be interesting. I had a nice little fight with Scornful Mother this evening. It’s a fairly long story. Suffice it to say that Scornful Mother thinks we don’t communicate well enough with her and Mr. Fixit thinks she is judgmental and ungrateful and incapable of accepting any responsibility for problems and I think they both are being difficult and intolerant children. Mr. Fixit is ready to leave and never come back. I am not far from the same position, but where would we go? We can’t all stay at Mr. Fixit‘s parents’ apartment for the next 5 or 6 days. Not to mention the fact that that leaves her with a house that still is unfinished-not that she has the money to finish it. I really hate feeling like I have to be responsible!

Anyway, I need to get back to Precious Nieces #1 & #2. I just needed to vent for a few minutes.

Man am I glad I’m not there. Scornful Mother asked me to come back for Thanksgiving and I declined. Definitely the right choice.

Despite my lack of desire to spend this time with my family, I can’t help but remember that it is a holiday on which families come together. It’s a Thursday on which I feel perfectly healthy and I’m not at work, reminds me it’s a holiday. It’s a Thursday and my otherwise bustling and noisy neighborhood is virtually silent, reminding me that all the people who are normally outside my house making the noise, have gone away or gathered in-doors, to celebrate the day and spend time together.

I receive only one invitation, each year, and it’s to join Green M&M and her family. When I first moved to California, I accepted this invitation a few times, but I never really enjoyed myself. It’s a noisy and chaotic environment which I really do not enjoy, and I don’t particularly care for a number of the family members that gather, so now I decline the offer. Come to think of it, the offer wasn’t even extended this year. Green M&M knows I’ll decline, so I guess she figures, why bother?

At times like these, I often think about the TV show Friends. I loved that show. Six individuals who are friends, with no readily accessible family to speak of (except of course for Ross and Monica) who make a family of themselves and spending the holiday together. I, of course, would be the Chandler of the group, (doesn’t like thanksgiving food… oh, and gay) but I would really like to have a handful of close knit friends who view each other as family and who actually enjoy spending these times together. I’d like to have somewhere to go on days like today where I don’t have to feel like I’m intruding on some other families day, and where I’m not burdened by my own family. At the vary least, I’d like to be able to feel like I’m alone today, because I chose to be, not because I have to be.

I’ll be glad when this day is over, largely so I won’t have to deal with all of this any more, but even more so because there is one, truly wonderful thing, that I absolutely love about Thanksgiving. If today is Thanksgiving, then tomorrow is the day I get to spend with Eve, and that, dear blog readers, is what I am the most thankful for!

Until now, I’ve always made my closest friends in my workplace. This goes back as far as I can remember. Even to my senior year in high school when I worked at the grocery store that was in Scornful Mother‘s back yard.

I met Batman while working as a cashier at Price Mart (since bought out.) He was a bagger. He was handsome. A few inches shorter than I, with sandy blond hair and a tan complexion. He worked out and it showed. He always wore the long sleeves of his white button down, oxford shirts rolled up to above his large, hard biceps. He wore a perpetual, goofy grin on his face and he was completely endearing to everyone who ever met him. I was instantly enthralled with his good looks and great attitude.

In addition to Batman, my friend who I have referred to on this blog as RNJ also worked at the Price Mart. At the time, I believed I had feelings for RNJ but she had no interest in me. The two of us were in choir together in school and had grown a friendship there. She was, by far your traditional cowgirl with a rebellion just waiting to come out. For a brief time, we were like the Three Musketeers.

RNJ and Batman flirted back and forth relentlessly while I looked on with despair and desperation. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to have a relationship with someone like these two had. Batman was RNJ‘s prom date. I went to dinner with the two of them and a platonic date, but because I was under 18 and Scornful Mother wouldn’t give her permission for me to go to Prom I didn’t attend. (A story for another time) I spent the entire evening lying on my platonic date’s parents’ bed watching Homefront and waiting for Batman and RNJ to come back and pick us up again.

Not long after graduation, RNJ entered a rebellious phase and she dumped Batman. He and I had become friends though, or at least I thought so. Looking back I realized that, at that time at least, Batman was the kind of guy who thought of nothing but you… while you were in front of him. But as soon as you left his sight, he promptly forgot about you. Anyway, we were friends for a time over the summer. I was out of school and probably held some appeal in that regard. He was popular, funny, good looking and had no shortage of self confidence. I really enjoyed being his friend.

One Summer, afternoon while at work, Batman invited me to come over to his house after we both go off work and spend the night. His parents had this big, beautiful house with a kidney shaped pool in the back yard. We stayed up half the night talking about all kinds of things, chief among them, RNJ, of course. Batman deduced that I had feelings for her, and even though I flatly denied it, it seemed clear that there was something to what he was saying. Certainly I had some affection for her, but there seemed more to the story.

We spent the next morning lying out next to the pool while he told me of all of his sexual escapades, of which there were many. The part of my brain that was under Scornful Mother‘s programming was, well, scornful, of his behavior. The larger part of my brain though, was enthralled. I was impressed with his apparent prowess. I was jealous of his nerve and adventurousness. I was envious of his experience. And I was glad that we were sprawled out on our stomach’s and he couldn’t see what was happening in my swimming trunks thinking about him in the various sexual endeavors he described. Even then I couldn’t really accept what that might mean.

I decided a the last minute to go off to college in the fall and we didn’t have any interaction for several months and when I returned at the end of the semester, I had a wrecked car to pay for, a job to work full-time and before long a fiance to connect with (another story for another time.) Batman had his senior year in high school, an untold number of girlfriends and a very emotionally – if not physically – abusive home life to contend with. (Something I didn’t know about until years later.) We grew apart during that time.

That October, I took Dead Beat Dad up on an offer to come live with him for a time while I earned money to buy a car and have more freedom and independence for when I got married the following year. Batman joined the military, almost as soon as he graduated from high school and that seemed to be the end of our relationship.

I stayed at Dead Beat Dad‘s house for nine months, during which time, my fiance took up with my so-called best friend, started going partying at clubs on a regular basis, cheated on me with an unspecified number of men, broke up with me and got engaged to another man. All this, while I was out of town on a mission we agreed was important to undertake for the betterment of our future together. Not two weeks after I returned to Oklahoma, she married another man who she left six months later, just to take up with her boss and get pregnant with his child.

I lived in Oklahoma for six months that time before I got promoted to Store Manager and moved away again. I was gone from The Town Named for Damaged Native American Weaponry for about nine months before I decided I couldn’t continue in my career path and I gave up my position to move back in with Scornful Mother and give school another try. School never did work out but I’d been thinking about Batman a lot at that point, wondering what ever happened to him and missing our friendship. So when I returned to TTNFDNAW I looked him up. I was anxious about calling him. What if he didn’t want to reconnect with me? What if he was still cooler than I and didn’t want to have anything to do with me? What if this person in the phone book, with his name, wasn’t even the same guy?

I sent him a letter saying if he was the same guy and he wanted to reconnect that he should give me a call at Scornful Mother‘s house. A week later, he called and my heart danced in my chest! He wanted to get together for lunch the following week. He was working for an earlier incarnation of The Soul Crushing Telecom Company and invited me to come out for a tour of the site and lunch at a local eatery. Naturally, I agreed.

I was sitting in the main lobby of the company campus waiting for him to come and greet me when I saw something I couldn’t believe. Off in the distance I saw something that vaguely represented my friend known as Batman but was more reminiscent of The Penguin. It turned out that, when Mrs. Batman got pregnant with Bat Baby they decided they were ready to exit Military Service. Apparently, that was relatively easy for Mrs. Batman to accomplish, but Batman would have to be a bit creative. Batman immediately stopped exercising and started over eating. When it came time for his PT (Physical Tests) he was no longer able to pass them, and he was given an honorable discharge.

After filling me in on the years I had missed in his life; his marriage and recent birth of his six week old Bat-daughter, he told me about The Company and how they were always hiring. He told me about their benefits. I’ll never forget the moment he pushed his glasses up his nose and told me, “They offer really good Obstetrics coverage.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure that came in handy for you, but I’d settle for some decent optometry coverage.”

Batman explained to me how they hire through a temp agency and how I should go there and register. He’d put in a word for me with the hiring manager and get me in for an interview. The rest of the story is fairly obvious. I interviewed for a trainee position through the temp agency and was offered the slot. I wouldn’t be hired permanently by the company till I finished the training program and proved I could handled the job. I wasn’t concerned.

When I got the call that they were going to bring me in I called Batman to share the good news. He was excited for me, and very encouraging. And then he dropped the bomb. “Unfortunately, I won’t still be there,” he said. “Mrs. Batman and I are moving to California.”

Batman‘s entire family had moved away, and in fact he’d been renting and living in his parents house that he lived in during high School, the last of his multi-syllabic named clan in town. Mrs. Batman’s mother lived in Turlock, California and she operated a day care center out of her home. She’d made an offer to have them move in with her. Bat-baby would stay in the day care while Batman would go work and Mrs. Batman would go to Dental Hygienist school while they concentrated on paying off their debt so they could buy a house. I was, of course really disappointed that he was leaving after we’d reconnected, but what could I do. I offered my support and encouragement and offered any help I could provide. The week before I started the training program I helped him load a 26′ Penske truck with everything they owned in preparation for their cross half the country trip to Turlock, California. The night before they left town, after I’d helped load the last of their belongings in the truck and left them for the last time, I sobbed in my bed as I thought about what I’d gained and immediately lost again.

By the time I finished training, Batman had gotten hired and was fully established in a position with the same company, but in the San Jose, California office and he e-mailed me to keep in touch. To keep a long story short, he helped me get my foot in the door with The Soul Crushing Telecom Company in the Bay Area. That October, I flew to California for a week where I interviewed with Batman‘s boss and looked at a few apartments in the area. It was at this time that the offer was extended for me to come to California and stay with Batman et. al., even if it wasn’t for the the position with TSCTC.

I chose not to accept the full time position that I was offered in Oklahoma because company policy would have prohibited me from being hired in California, even if I had quit the job in Oklahoma to move and accept the new position. Little did I know it would take four more months for anything to happen. Finally, in March of the following year, I was giving a verbal offer of employment and I quit my temp job and moved to California to stay with my “new family” and get started with the rest of my life.

While I was on my own half-cross-country drive from The Town Named for Damaged Native American Weaponry, The Soul Crushing Telecom Company announced that they had just bought out another local telecommunications company and that they were instituting a hiring freeze until all that companies employees had been assimilated into the population. I was concerned, but mostly just happy to be moving to California (a dream I didn’t know I had, coming true) and to be living with my good friend.

It is a little known fact that there are three factors in life that tend to trigger depression in just about anyone. 1) Marriage, Divorce or A Death in the Family, 2) Career Change or 3) Major Relocation. I had two of the three working against me, plus being already predisposed to depression, plus, as it turned out the Bat-Mother-in-Law was determined to come between Batman and his wife and was happy to use me to make that happen.

I lived with the Bat Brood for four long, hard months. It was horrible for me, feeling like an outsider and seeing that my relationship with Batman was quickly slipping away. When all was said and done I can only congratulate Batman for standing up to the Bat-Mother-in-Law and not letting her come between him and the Bat-wife, but it was at my expense.

By the time it was over, there was nothing left of my friendship with Batman. He did make a few attempts here and there to remain friends but I couldn’t get beyond the fact that he had put his wife and her mother ahead of me, when they were doing such evil things to run me out. (The Bat-wife got snookered, at least for a time, by the Bat-Mother-in-Law.) Soon, his attempts to continue our friendship gave out and we stopped communicating.

In the summer of 2001, I was contemplating the idea of joining the California National Guard. I was sick of my life (not unlike I am now) and I desperately needed to do something to make a change and to take control. I was sick of my body, sick of my mind and sick of having my life. I thought joining the CNG would 1) whip me into shape, 2) Help me find myself and 3) change my entire existence for the better. I had no interest in going oversees or going into battle, but I was interested in getting the training and willing to take the risk of being involved in some disaster relief efforts, or God forbid, some police actions. At one point I had a meeting with a recruiter and was seriously giving it some consideration but thought I should get some information from someone who knew stuff. I sent an e-mail to Batman asking him to meet me for lunch so I could get some information from him. He agreed to meet me and I drove to Stockton, California where he was working to meet up for lunch. I sat in the parking lot waiting for him. About ten minutes after I arrived, he came down the sidewalk in my direction. He was just a sliver of who he had been the last time I saw him…. and he looked awesome!

He told me everything I wanted to know about being in Boot Camp/Basic Training and what he thought I’d be getting myself into. I told him that I apologized for my part in all the hurt that happened when I lived with him and his family. That I was struggling emotionally and the turmoil was just too much for me, but that it’s no excuse. We said we’d keep in touch, and continue to work on our friendship and neither of us has made an effort to contact the other since. And a few weeks later, some psychopaths flew two commercial airplanes into the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. I knew we would be going to war, and while I was as enraged as the next American at the events of that day, I knew I could not go to Afghanistan, or Iraq, or any of the other countries and fight a war that I felt had no purpose. And I knew if I signed any enlistment papers, I would be doing just that.

My life has gone on since then, without Batman and without the military but not without it’s price. I still think about him and about the friendship I lost. I still think about how great he looked that day lying by the pool, and about how confident he was, everyday, even as a fat man, and how sexy that made him. And I still miss that friendship.

I was a painfully lonely child. Even while most kids with siblings have built in best friends, my sibs hardly wanted anything to do with me as a child. I desperately needed for someone to love me and want me around. Ex Con Older Brother and CPA Sis are only two years apart and always had more in common with each other than either had with me. For reasons I may never be able to understand, I wasn’t really ever able to make friends with people my own age, and so I spent a lot of time after school and on the week-ends being alone.

“Mommy,” I used to say to Vengeful Mother, “I’m bored.”

“So find yourself something to do,” she would respond. “It’s not my responsibility to entertain you.” Even Vengeful Mother didn’t want to spend time with me.

I rarely ever considered the idea of having a little brother or sister. I couldn’t remember when my parents were married and so for me to have a little brother or sister would require someone to have sex outside of marriage and, well, that of course was out of the question! So while, from time to time, I wished for a built in best friend like my siblings had in each other, I never really seriously considered the desire. So I was painfully lonely.

I used to overhear ECOB And CPA Sis talk about “The Game”, and I had no idea what they were talking about. Finally one day I learned that they had an imaginary world, known simply as “The Game”, wherein they pretended to be other people, with other lives. Generally older than they really were, with spouses and families and friends that didn’t really exist. And I wanted in. They, of course wouldn’t allow it, so as usual I was out in the cold to play my own game. So, play my game I did.

I used to have great fun playing my game. As a very young child I was completely enamored with Wonder Woman, but of course I was a boy and I knew I was not permitted to want to be a girl. (In truth, I didn’t really want to be a girl, I just didn’t have a lot of imagination.) So I pretended I was Wonder Man. (I never knew there really was a Wonder Man character.) I imagined I had the little red boots with the white stripe and the slight heel. As to the rest of my costume, well, as I just said, I didn’t have much of an imagination but I had to “masculinize” Wonder Woman’s costume for myself… So imagine, Richard Simmons… feeling very patriotic… That’s pretty much what my imaginary Wonder Man costume looked like, complete with the golden lasso, bullet proof cuffs and boomerang crown naturally! Of course if I’d known then, what I know now… I might’ve imagined myself looking a little more like this:

I used to run around the yard outside our after school care ladies house kicking my heels into my butt cheeks (because that was how Wonder Woman ran so fast, dontchaknow) and making the ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch sound whenever I’d “jump great distances.” This, by the way was the same sound I made while “performing great feats of strength”, when I pretended I was The Six Million Dollar Man. ECOB and CPA Sis pretended not to know me.

I used to love MacGyver. I hadn’t taken any significant science classes at that point (and come to find out I’d suck big harry nuts at science) but I thought he was the shiz. Plus, he was blond. Something I always wanted to be but never was… Not naturally anyway. He was attractive. I could tell because CPA Sis and Vengeful Mother both really liked him. I always got a happy feeling when I’d see him on the screen. So at one point I wanted to be MacGyver. (As a side bar: With the resurgence of “old time” TV shows lately (Bionic Woman, Knight Rider, 90210) they should totally make a new MacGyver. I’m thinking Ryan Reynolds or maybe that guy from Brittney Spears’ “Womanizer” video (shirtless at all times of course.) I’d do ‘im– er, watch him.)

I always liked The Facts of Life, and, go figure, Jo Polniaczek was my favorite girl. I knew I was supposed to like girls and of the options, she was the least girlie, black or fat. Now don’t get me wrong. I always liked Jo, for real, but if I was supposed to like a girl, she was the one. And at the time I thought I was sincere.

So for a while there, “in the game” I was MacGyver and I was married to Jo Polniaczek, living in Mrs. G’s house and sharing the household responsibilities with the other girls and their husbands (Yes. The four of them all still lived in the house.)

For a brief period of time in 1988 I even pretended I was Mario Van Peebles, a la “Sonny Spoon” and I was married to Olympic Figure Skater Debi Thomas. I know they say that “Once you go black, you never go back”, but this phase didn’t last very long and when it was over, it was all white guys from then on, for me.

Eventually, Ex Con Older Brother outgrew “The Game”, and CPA Sis wasn’t ready to call it quits, so suddenly, I was old enough to play. I still remember, from time to time, whenever one of us would learn something new about someone, or find a new celebrity or character we liked, we’d change “The Game”. At one point CPA Sis and I were both infatuated with MacGyver at the same time.

“In the game, I’m MacGyver,” I said.

“You can’t be. I want to be married to him,” was her reply.

“Hmmm. Ok. Then…. I’m his twin brother GyMacver.” I replied. (I don’t think I really fucked with the name like that, but who knows.

On other occasions:

“In the game, MacGyver is sitting right here next to me with his arm around me helping me with my homework.” Guess which of us said that.

The worst was when I was spending the night at my friends house (we’ll call him the Pickle) once and I thought it would be cool to let him in on the fun. I told him about the game and that in the game I was MacGyver and I was married to The Bionic Woman, and then pretended to kiss her. The Pickle and I were lying on the floor in his parents room playing a board game, (Life, I think) and when I finished kissing Jamie Sommers and looked back at him, he looked at me like I had three heads. Fortunately, about three seconds later, he forgot all about my game.

He’d been playing with an electrical cord with his toes while we were playing the board game and suddenly his mother’s iron came crashing down on his head, point first. As the blood gushed forth and down over his forehead, no longer was the stupidity of my imaginary game at hand, and never was it mentioned again!

There was a point in the late 80s where I also fantasized that I was Officer Tom Hansen as played by Johnny Depp. This one worked particularly well, because I could go to my school and learn my lessons while pretending to be this cool, older, sexier guy that girls swooned over. There’s one episode of 21 Jump Street that has always stood out for me. Tom decided to become a Big Brother as in Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America, but he was ultimately rejected. It turned out that Doug Penhall had discouraged the BBBS from accepting Tom, for one reason or another… Hey! I was 12. I can’t be expected to remember ALL of the details.

In late 1988 or early 1989, I had become enamored of the “Patch and Kayla” story on Days of our Lives (which I’d been introduced to by CPA Sis.) I didn’t especially think much of Steve, but I thought Kayla (Mary Beth Evans) was awesome. Since I had no imagination, I decided I wanted to be Steve so I could be with Kayla. I knew CPA Sis wouldn’t be impressed with that so I didn’t tell her. I continued to pretend I was pretending to be MacGyver because that was acceptable to her, but really I was pretending I was Patch. (I guess this was the beginning of my career pretending to be something acceptable to my family.) I remember the day in the late ’80s when I realized that something was not right. CPA Sis was 16 or 17 years old and her heart hadn’t really seemed into it when I’d talk about “The Game.” One day I said, “You don’t really want to play ‘The Game’ anymore, do you?”

“Not really,” she said. “I’m kinda too old for it.”

And that was the end of “The Game”… Or was it?

I’m a little ashamed to admit that I continued to play “The Game” alone, well into my 20s. When Party of Five came out, I was head over heals for Scott Wolf/Bailey Salinger. I wanted to be him. God only knows why he was the preferred character for me. I was certainly closer in age to Charlie Salinger, but it was all about Bailey. I had a whole fantasy worked out. I was Bailey Salinger, and (as was often the case in those days) I had an infant child which was the product of a one night stand with a girl I met at a party. She had died during child birth (as they always did, ’cause who needs the girl around) and I was raising my child on my own (the only way I’d want to.)

When I moved to California, and had my first job with The Soul Crushing Telecom Company for whom Green M&M still works, I met a guy. His name was Scott and he was beautiful. I wanted him, but mostly I just wanted to be friends with him. My fantasy was that Scott and I (Bailey Salinger) were such good friends that we hung out together all of the time.

One day Scott didn’t come to work. I found out that he had always wanted to ride his motor cycle to LA and back and so he took a Friday off to do this. In my imagination, I came home from work to find him in my apartment. He’d gotten halfway to LA and realized he wasn’t having any fun ’cause I wasn’t there, and he turned around and came back. He couldn’t wait to tell me all this and how much he wanted to be with me. That was the first night I allowed myself to unabashedly fantasize about having sex with a man.

To this day, when I’m feeling particularly lonely, or when I’ve got something on my mind that I need to hash out with someone, or when I’m horny and I need a boyfriend… I find myself leaning toward “The Game.” I’ve found it to be like an addiction. I have a physical need for it. Honestly! Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m the only person in the house and that I can talk to myself all I want, I’m just talking to myself. No one is going to answer me. It’s not that I have to pretend I’ve got this whole alternate life going on anymore. But sometimes I imagine both sides of the conversation/encounter and play it out. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with this, it’s just that it’d be real easy for me to slip back into “The Game” if I let myself and I don’t want to do that. I want real relationships.

So, yeah. I was lonely a lot growing up, and despite my knowledge that getting a little brother would mean “unacceptable” behavior on my mother’s part I always wanted someone I could be close with. I finally got my “little brother in 2000, when CPA Sis married Mr. Fixit who is three years my junior. Unfortunately, my “little brother” was going to be living 1800 miles away (3000 miles now) and is nearly six inches taller than I. Very funny God! You’ve finally answered my prayers and my “little brother” is bigger than I.

—————————————————————————————-

About a year ago, I grew very tired of being lonely and set about looking for ways to find and make new friends. The ancestral version of this blog was part of that plan, but that didn’t come until later and when it did, it didn’t work out the way I had intended. I decided that I could make an effort toward meeting people, and perhaps make myself feel a little bit better by finding some sort of volunteer work I could do. I looked into Habitat for Humanity. I really enjoy things that have tangible results to show and what better way to have tangible results than to build something, but their needs and my availability didn’t really seem to match up.

I found myself low on further ideas for additional opportunities so I did an internet search and came across a website called Volunteer Match and I found a number of listings for mentoring. Nothing sounded familiar to me and I felt like that was too big of a deal to enter into lightly, but it reminded me of the episode of 21 Jump Street. I remember watching that episode in silence while secretly being tremendously affected by it. Of course part of it was, how could I not want Johnny Depp to pay attention to me? But mostly it was just my secret longing for anyone to really care about and pay attention to me. To make me the center of their universe, even if it was only for a few hours a week. I was hurting while I watched it because I was thinking, I could really use someone like that in my life. But I couldn’t ask for it.

And while I was remembering that it hit me. I could be a Big Brother. I could do for some kid or kids what no one ever did for me. I could be a positive influence in their lives. So I went to their website and I applied. It wasn’t meant to be at that time. There was an obstacle that I had to over come before I could be a Big Brother, but it was a blessing in disguise. It gave me a year to think it over and make sure, was this really something I wanted to do? Yes! Am I really ready to handle this? Fuck if I know, but I imagine it’s a little like parenthood. You’re never ready, you just do it.

Today, I had my first interview with the Big Brothers and Big Sisters of the Bay Area. It was nerve racking, though not as much so as I thought it would be. The match specialist was fabulous and made me feel very much at ease. She seemed very non-judgmental and more than once expressed her appreciation of my candor. It was actually easier than I thought it would be to tell her I’m gay, but I thought it was important to establish that up front.

Now begins the arduous wait while they go through their process. Tomorrow, she’ll send her reference checks to CPA Sis, Green M&M, Eve and Douche Bag. I would have just as soon not included him, but as I recall the application asks for your immediate supervisor as one of the references. The good thing is that DB doesn’t do confrontation, so I can rest relatively assured that he’ll say good things about me and not hurt my chances. I don’t know what he would possibly have based this statement on but when I told him I would be leaving early today for the interview he said, “That’s great! You’d make a great Big Brother.” While it’s nice to hear, I don’t feel particularly like that’s praise worth it’s salt coming from him. Anyway, while they wait for the references to be sent back, they’ll run my background check. The only thing they’ll find is the DUI I received on January 18, 2003 and they’re already aware of that. (This is the obstacle from a year ago.) They can’t officially match me with a “Little” until after it’s been five years, so I have a couple months to wait. I was informed that being gay, it will take longer to match me, anyway. Apparently, there are a lot of parent/guardians out there who are ignorant and fearful of homosexuality and have specified that they do not want their children paired up with a homosexual. It’s unfortunate, as it’s the “Little” that they’re hurting, but it is their prerogative. I can’t say I’m surprised by the likely delay, but it’s still sad to hear. Meanwhile, if I’m accepted (God, I hope I’m accepted. What would it say about me if I’m not ‘good enough’ to work with underprivileged children) they do offer some training for me to take which will help prepare me to be a “Big”.

I’ll be honest. I’m terrified. My stomach is in knots and my heart is in my throat, just writing about it. But it is important to me. I can’t wait to be able to have a positive impact on some boy’s life. To teach him that there are people out there who want nothing more than his health, safety and happiness. To teach him that no matter what shit he’s going through there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. And, God forbid, if he’s been through some serious problems (i.e. molestation, physical abuse) to teach him that not everyone wants to treat him like that. That there is good in the world and that he deserves to experience it.

Ok. I know this is a shot in the dark but I’m trying to locate an old friend…

Ten or so years ago, I was working as a store manager at a J. Riggings (now defunct) store in the Northwest Arkansas Mall in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I had an Assistant Manager named Christopher Newberry (Middle name Anthony, I think.) Chris is gay and was the first and only true gay friend I’ve ever had.

When I quit my job, Chris took over from me as manager. A few months after that Chris was promoted to a bigger store and moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma where I grew up. It just so happened that this was a few weeks before I moved to California. I haven’t seen or spoken to Chris since then.

I’d really like to touch base with Chris again, but I don’t know where he is or how to find him. I don’t think I have enough personal information to justify spending the money for a locater service.

So I thought I’d take a shot in the dark and ask if anybody knows Chris (or if Chris happens to see this). I’d like to make contact with him again.

Ok. So, it’s late. I’m drunk and I shoulda been in bed a long time ago, so I’ll make this quick…

I was instant messaging earlier this eveng with a 14 year old kid I met through an on-line support group type website…. He’s a nice looking kid, and most of our conversation was about his relationship with his parents now that he’s come out to them…

Toward the end of our conversation, though, he mentioned that he was horney and looking for someone to get him off. He was clear that he wanted me to be that someone… But I wouldn’t work with him because he’s a child and I’m an adult and I know better thatn to get involved in a child’s world…

He kept insisting that it was ok… That I can’t get in trouble for on-line conversations… But I told him, cute as he is, it wasn’t worth the risk for me… he’s just too young…

What does the world at large think? I pretty much know that I did the right thing by not getting involved…. But did I have anything to be afraid of?

While at the event at Tres Agaves last week, I won a prize by knowing the answer to the question “Matty has two pets. What are their names?” He has a dog named “Kelly Clarkson” and a cat named “Colonel Fuzby.” The prize I won was passes to “The Front of the Mixer” for the radio station’s concert in Golden Gate park, called “Summerthing.” I wasn’t really interested in going to the concert, but these passes got me special treatment, or so I thought. It was a reserved seating area with bean bag chairs to sit on and the bean bag chairs got to come home with me.

Before the event at Tres Agaves was over the male host of the morning show “No Name” (AKA Mike Nelson) offered Majority VIP Passes to the concert. Unsvelt Girl Who Runs said that she could probably get M&M and me in, too. I do love being “special”. Over the last few weeks I’ve started feeling better about myself and feeling like maybe I’ve finally started to be accepted.

Today, I was reminded that I’m not really so special. That I’m not especially accepted.

OK. So I’m being hard on myself, and in truth, I’m not letting this have that much of an affect on me. But here’s the thing, I went to this event because there was to be free stuff and because there was to be special treatment. I was going to be one of the “cool kids” with special treatment and hanging out with friends. I sure wasn’t there for the music (a bunch of musicians I don’t know anything about.)

Well, I was able to make it to the event, I got to my special seating, found my free bean bag chair… And that was it! Then I contacted UGWR, met up with her and her family and we made our way to the VIP area. Well, after all is said and done, M&M and I weren’t able to get into the VIP area, while UGWR et. al. did. And there seemed no hurry to inform us of this or any desire to spend time with us outside the VIP area that we weren’t admitted to.